


Y2K

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pre-Canon, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: It was inevitable that the millennium would be a memorable New Years.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 111





	Y2K

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year! Good riddance to 2020!  
> Some of this fic is based on real footage of the 1999 ball drop - I teared up a little watching it. So much hope and excitement for the 21st century..... sighhhhh.  
> Enjoy this fic of the Winchesters grabbing a little of that hope and excitement.

“What are you doing tonight?” Sam asked, picking pepperoni off the last slice of congealed pizza. 

Dean kicked his feet up on the bed and reached across Sam to steal some of the pepperoni. “Thought I’d go to bed early, catch some Z’s.” 

Sam slapped at his hand. “No you’re not, doofus. You’re not sleeping through the millennium.” 

“Yeah? I think that’s how I’d like to go out in the Y2K apocalypse. Sound asleep.” 

“There’s no such thing as the apocalypse,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “There might be a massive computer crisis though.” 

“Well, you tell me, brainiac. Should I be worried?” 

Sam glanced around the dingy hotel room - the faded 70s wall paper, the ancient telephone with wires showing through the cracked cord. “Not here. Pretty sure nothing in this town is computerized. Or newer than ‘85.” 

Dean grinned. “Not that TV, for sure, but I could probably get good enough service to watch the ball drop in New York. We still have that tinfoil?”

“I think it’s still in the trunk.” They kept it around for exactly this purpose. “Seriously, though, you aren’t gonna go out? That bar will probably have a party.” 

Dean thought about it, wiping pizza grease absently on the polyester comforter. Just last week they’d been in New Orleans. If Dad had been just a little less gung-ho about find a new case, Dean could be there, in the middle of the party of a lifetime with a fake ID and some hot stranger to kiss. Instead they were in the middle of nowhere West Virginia, in a dying coal town with one watering hole and a shuttered high school. If they stayed much longer, Dean would be driving Sam three townships over to enroll him in the school that served the whole county. 

“Nah,” he said. 

“You’re really gonna stay home for the year 2000?” Sam’s eyes were unreadable in the dimly lit room, half obscured by his bangs. He was a few months shy of 17 and more and more often these days Dean couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

“Why, you got other plans?” 

Sam shrugged, tee-shirt slipping to show his clavicle. God, when had Dean’s little brother gotten so tall and bony? “Guess not.” 

“Sometimes a party for two’s the best kind of party.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and laughed when Sam just shoved at him again. He checked his watch. A quarter to nine. Already the new year across the pond. “Hey, think the world’s ended in London yet?” 

Sam brushed the last pizza crumbs off his belly and stifled a yawn. “Dunno. Think we can get enough reception to find out?” 

“I’ll go get the tin foil.” Dean shoved his feet into his boots, not bothering to lace them, and pulled on his jacket. The night sky threatened snow. He dug the crushed box of aluminum foil out from under the first aid kit in the trunk, and after a moment’s thought, grabbed the cheap whiskey he had stashed under the passenger seat two states ago. If he’d been thinking ahead about the new year he’d have bought beer. He considered driving somewhere to pick some up, but the icy cut of the wind through his jacket and the thought of the motel room with the heater cranked up made him discard that idea. 

As he picked his way carefully across icy patches in the parking lot, a familiar engine rumbled behind him and John pulled into the lot, parking his truck beside the Impala. Dean paused, waiting for him. Dad had the room next to theirs. 

“You boys going out?” John asked. 

“No sir,” Dean said. “Staying in. You find anything up at the trailhead?” 

“Nothing that wasn’t in the police report. Too frozen for footprints. Tomorrow we’ll check out the county records office. It’ll be closed for the holiday.” John’s eyes dipped to the paper bag in Dean’s hand, and he smiled slightly. “Don’t get too drunk. Drills in the morning.” 

Dean swallowed. “Yessir.” 

The corners of John’s eyes crinkled. He slapped Dean’s shoulder and said, “Happy New Year, son.” 

Letting out a breath, Dean slipped back into his and Sam’s room, hearing the next door over click shut behind their father. 

“Was that Dad?” Sam asked, looking up. He’d moved the pizza box to the floor and was sprawled on Dean’s bed facing the TV, small of his back showing where his shirt was rucked up. It looked like he was growing out of his boxers again. 

“Yeah. He didn’t find anything new.” Dean dragged his eyes away from his brother’s ass in too-tight, thin-worn cotton, and knelt down by the TV. “Get your stinky feet off my pillow, dude.” 

“Or what?” 

“Or I won’t give you any of this whiskey.” Dean grinned to himself as he heard the mattress squeak with Sam changing positions. 

It took about ten minutes to coax the rabbit ears into picking up a signal worth watching, and then Dean nudged Sam over to make room on the bed. X-files was on, and they traded the bottle back and forth, making fun of the supernatural plot lines. 

“Scully you’re not going to believe this,” Sam growled in a passable imitation of David Duchovney and Dean smothered his laughter against Sam’s skinny arm. Some time in the last year, Sam’s voice had stopped breaking in that lower register. 

By the time the 11 o'clock hour rolled over, Sam was a dead weight on Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s shirt a little damp where Sam was drooling on him. Channel 3 was playing footage from Times Square, in between commentary from the anchor - some poor schmuck who had been roped into working New Years Eve while the big name newscasters had the night off.  _ Piccadilly Circus is big, Tokyo is big, but it ain’t nothing like New York City,  _ the guy was saying.  _ This is the place to be. _ Dean took another slug of whiskey and ran his fingers through his brother’s hair. Sam snuffled slightly against his bicep, nuzzling into his touch. Sam’s hair had lost the baby-fine texture of years past but it was still soft - thick now, between Dean’s fingers. The whiskey was warm in his gut. Sam made another noise like a kitten and nestled against him. Something ached pleasantly in Dean’s ribcage. 

Around the twenty minute mark, Dean nudged Sam gently. “Now who’s sleeping through the new year?”

“N’me.” Sam mumbled, lips moving against Dean’s skin through the wet cotton of his shirt. 

“Not you, huh?” Dean tussled Sam’s hair a little harder and Sam squinted his eyes open.

“S’midnight?” 

“Not yet.” Dean nodded at the TV. “Still partying like it’s the last night on earth.” 

Sam yawned. “You wanna be there?” 

Dean studied the crowd on screen - over-saturated reds and greens of the ancient TV set making them look almost alien. Sam’s body was pressed against his from hip to shoulder, warm. “Nah. I’m alright here. Even if I don’t get a New Year’s kiss.” 

Sam huffed out a breath, something between a laugh and a snort, and turned back to the television. The camera zoomed in on the glowing ball and then panned across the crowd again, a mass of waving arms and unrecognizable faces. Sam’s hand landed on Dean’s thigh and he jumped, but Sam was just fumbling for the bottle tucked against his hip. 

Minutes ticked down and stretched out. Dean took another pull of whiskey when Sam passed it to him, the bottle nearly empty.  _ Three minutes to midnight,  _ the announcer proclaimed. 

“Hey Dean?” 

“Mm?” 

“It’s bad luck not to kiss on New Years.” 

“Says who?” Dean asked. “Anyway, you’ve never been kissed on New Years and you turned out fine.” 

“Yeah I’m the luckiest guy alive,” Sam deadpanned, and Dean jostled him reprovingly with one arm, not looking away from the TV. “But it’s gotta be extra bad luck on the millennium. ‘Specially if the world’s about to end.”

“The world’s not ending,” Dean said absently. “Even if it were, I’m right where I want to be.” 

The countdown to midnight started on screen.  _ Get close to someone you love,  _ the anchor said. _ In thirty five seconds it will be 2000.  _

The heater clanked on. Fifteen seconds. Dean could feel Sam’s ribcage rise and fall against his arm. Ten, nine, eight.

“Dean?” Sam said again. Six, five. 

“Yeah?” Dean blinked and twisted his head to look at his brother. Their faces were close together on the pillow. The screaming of the crowd on screen had coalesced into a throbbing, inarticulate countdown. Dean’s heart was pounding with the anticipation of the drop, cheeks warm from the whiskey. Three. Two. 

Sam took a little hitching breath and tipped his head forward to press his lips against Dean’s. 

A raucous, tinny cacophony erupted from the TV as the ball dropped to the sound of cheering and trumpets blaring. Sam’s mouth was soft and tasted like whiskey. Dean couldn’t breath. One of Sam’s hands curled in Dean’s undershirt, knuckles pressed against his heart. Sam’s tongue brushed against Dean’s lower lip and jolted him like an electric current. 

They broke apart, Dean struggling not to pant into the nonexistent space between them. Sam’s eyes glittered in the flickering light of the TV. Under the ongoing roar of the crowd, the slow notes of Auld Lang Syne began to play. Confetti was blowing across the screen, making the already pixelated footage look like static-snow. A lot like what was happening in Dean’s brain. 

“Dean?” Sam breathed. 

“Sammy,” Dean managed. 

“Happy new year, Dean,” Sam whispered, and he was grinning when he leaned in to kiss Dean again. The world spun on.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! Reblog on tumblr [here.](https://nevergettingoverwincest.tumblr.com/post/639063583742967809/y2k-new-years-ficlet)


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